"With wine in your belly, life is a little brighter."
— Bronn of the Blackwater
…
Year 289 After Aegon's Conquest.
The Jade Sea. Unnamed Archipelago.
The once blue sky was veiled by a black curtain of storm clouds. Large raindrops poured onto the cobblestones, turning into rivulets that fed the steady stream of water flowing down the gutters. Waves crashed against the island shore, and the trees bent under the wind's furious power.
All this was clearly visible from the window of my study, located on one of the upper floors of the tower. In the two weeks of my stay here, the workspace had acquired a more habitable look, having shed the long-rotted junk and gained furniture made of wood that had not yet darkened and still gave off the scent of resin. And while the table, chairs, and cabinets lacked any hint of pretension or refinement, I felt quite comfortable in their surroundings, complemented by antique paintings and a pair of statues.
The shelves were filled with scrolls and rare books, as was most of the table. Information carriers were found not only in the underground vault but also in some of the laboratories located both in the tower itself and in the Flesh Pit. Most of the literature, unfortunately, had been ruined by time, but even the preserved scrolls were enough to create a decent library.
For the most part, the sources of information contained records of various medical and magical experiments, and about a third were ordinary reports on expenditures, income, and other bookkeeping. Some chronicled the history of Valyria and neighboring states, while another portion recounted the greatness and past deeds of House Deirarion, whose tower I now occupied.
And the smallest portion of scrolls, stored in the underground treasury, contained the teachings of the secret arts, knowledge of magic. The very energy thanks to which hundreds and thousands of years ago, huge fire-breathing lizards flew across the sky, krakens reigned in the depths of the seas, a malevolent snow-thing waited its turn beyond the Wall, and men commanded what was initially beyond their power.
The Deirarions, judging by the chronicles in their library, were not an ordinary house. In fact, most of the Dragonlord families did not differ much from typical feudal lords. Yes, they rode dragons, practiced magic, and were generally very enlightened people. But they were still lords, engaged in war, managing their vast land holdings, trade, and politics. Yet, there were exceptions among them.
For instance, the Ferarion were famous not for their riders, commanders, or politicians, though they had those too, but for their enormous workshops that produced armor and weapons for both the army and wealthier buyers, including the famous Valyrian steel. Another three Houses concentrated on battle magic.
Now then. While most of the Freehold's mages preferred fire and shadow magic, the Deirarions studied sorcery related to blood. That is why they had their residence near Sothoryos and far from the other noble Houses. After all, even in Valyria, there were forbidden branches of magic that greatly tempted one of the Houses of the Dragonlords.
Some of the knowledge I gained by reading the scrolls accumulated by generations of blood mages made me repeatedly consider burning everything here to ash. Rituals for creating various chimeras, beast-men, viruses, and other abominations were only the tip of the iceberg. I dread to imagine the number of people who died in terrible agony just for the knowledge contained within these ancient scrolls.
But to my good fortune, the Valyrian aristocrats did not only store records in their treasury that would make a Maester squeal like a little girl. There was also detailed information about dragons, their biological structure, their influence on riders, as well as methods of taming, training, and, most importantly—enhancement!
This was manna from heaven for me. While I was prepared to grant some Houses dragons to increase the army's power, I vehemently did not want to undermine the Targaryens' monopoly on overwhelming monarchical force. Initially, the plan was to create an order similar to the Kingsguard, but with dragons. But that was not the best option either. As Jaime Lannister showed, even wearing a white cloak and swearing oaths before the faces of the gods, a man can still drive a sword into his King's back.
The Deirarions developed a ritual by which a dragon could be made larger, stronger, and faster growing. I believe Balerion the Black Dread, overwhelming in his power and size, was just such an enhanced lizard. Not all of the Freehold's dragons underwent such modification, as the price for such a great advantage was not small.
For a little dragon to hatch from an egg, specific conditions were required. Specifically, fire, the crimson fluid of one whose veins carry a drop of dragon blood, and a human sacrifice. The enhancement ritual closely resembled the ordinary awakening of a dragon egg. However, much more magic was needed, but that was secondary. The main thing was that for the dragon to possess increased potential, strength, and the power of the magical focus, the sacrifice had to be not a person, but five dragon eggs. That is, for one monster, albeit a very strong one, the lives of five of its kin had to be paid. Very few Houses could afford this, and the fact that the Targaryens had even one such dragon was already a miracle.
Rising from the table, I clasped my hands behind my back and walked up to the window, behind which the storm was still raging with no sign of abating.
A difficult choice. Lose six potential dragons at once, but gain one monster that will instill primal terror in enemies, and cause allies and vassals to tremble in awe before such overwhelming power.
Although, there isn't much to think about here. There are too few Targaryens to surpass all vassals in the number of dragons. This means we must have superiority in quality. While the rest of the world has only swords and spears, my loyal vassals will bring nothing but fear and death to their opponents on their dragons. And to ensure the Dragonlords cannot even think of betrayal, the Targaryens must possess the kind of monsters that will make even proud dragons tremble with fear.
"But one cannot be limited only to this. There must be many more checks, balances, and chains to bind the hands of the aristocracy regarding the royal House. Alexander the Great commanded an invincible army, but that didn't stop his state from crumbling after his death. Caesar was a brilliant politician and commander, yet he died at the hands of traitors. It is necessary to protect the family and myself from similar fates," I said softly, following another clap of thunder.
I really should go get some sleep. I've only been sleeping in fits and starts for a good ten days, greedily studying the magical manuscripts. Now I've even started talking to myself.
Smiling wryly, I shook my head and walked toward the exit.
…
"Maybe we shouldn't rush things like this? I saw you calmly holding your hand in a burning bonfire, of course, but the scale here is clearly much larger." The Ghiscari said, eyeing the large pile of firewood laid out around the stone pedestal with doubt.
"The sooner we do what must be done, the more time the dragon will have to grow," I replied without turning, inspecting the runic circles on the flat stone surface for the tenth time.
Although I had mastered the writing of my ancestors to a sufficient degree, errors in the foundation of the ritual would be unforgivable.
The entire surface of the pedestal, located deep inside the island, was inscribed with neat hieroglyphs. Five dragon eggs were arranged around the circumference of a pentagram on iron stands, and there was a small, blank space in the center.
"And why must I be the one to light this fire?" Zirarro lapsed into complete gloom. "If you made even one mistake, you'll die a very unpleasant death; I saw the fanatics of R'hllor burn slaves. The screams of those wretches haunted me for a long time afterward! My heart will be filled with bitterness at the death of my lord."
"Don't worry, we'll still visit the brothels of Yunkai that you've told me so much about," I tried to calm the Ghiscari a little, changing the subject to one that always made Zirarro dreamily close his eyes and break into a satisfied smile.
"But I won't grieve for you for long. Upon learning who burned their lord on a pyre, the legionaries will quickly, or maybe slowly, send me to join you." The captain dropped his shoulders, gazing wistfully at the burning torch stuck in the ground nearby.
"Everything will be fine; you have nothing to worry about."
"Those were the exact words a free captain I sailed under said before a battle. And shortly after the fighting began, some pirate crushed his skull with a large maul." Zirarro snorted, grabbed the torch, and approached the pyre.
"I hope my fate turns out better than your captain's." I chuckled, took the black egg with purple veins from the casket, and stood in the center of the circle.
"If this magic shit doesn't work, I'll be killed. But trust me, I'll find your spirit after death and take my eternal revenge," the Ghiscari assured me and tossed the burning torch onto the firewood.
Soon the fire spread to the kindling and began to lick at the thicker wood with fiery tongues. With the crackling of burning twigs, the large, oil-soaked logs caught fire. Smoke billowed into the sky in thick clouds, and a distinct odor hit my nose.
"Try not to turn into a well-done piece of meat, Viserys!" the Ghiscari shouted, backing away from the heat of the pyre.
Soon the whole world disappeared for me; only the roar of the flame and the heat remained. The memorized words of the spell began to fall from my lips.
With every passing moment, the fire burned more fiercely, and the scarlet script glowed brighter. All my clothing had long since burned away; only the egg, which I held carefully against my chest, remained with me.
The magical focus, which I felt somewhere in my chest, began to steadily empty. My throat dried up, and my skin was already turning red from the temperature. But I stubbornly continued to whisper the words in High Valyrian.
And soon the flame trembled. Five rivulets seemed to detach from it, which, writhing like snakes, began to float through the air toward the sacrificial eggs. Piercing the shells, they penetrated inside. And then they burst out again and streamed toward my burden. Drawing closer, the fire began to pour into the black egg with purple veins at a monstrous speed.
The rivulets turned into full-fledged rivers of flame that, passing through the sacrificial dragon eggs, rushed toward my yet-unhatched dragon. My throat was completely dry, and I could only whisper hoarsely as my magical focus emptied with every passing second.
When real pain replaced mere discomfort, my burden finally shuddered. The shell cracked, and a moment later, it burst open. In my hands, all that remained was a small lizard, snarling menacingly and spreading its leathery wings, covered in fine scales, for greater intimidation.
The black scales reflected the firelight, shimmering with a dark purple color. Its back, with horny growths along the spine, arched like an angry cat's. Its red eyes met mine. The little dragon instantly lost all its battle readiness and, clumsily scrambling with its limbs, climbed onto my shoulder, helping itself with sharp claws, leaving small wounds on my skin along its path. Stroking the dragonet that was clinging to me with its whole body, I smiled genuinely.
"Quietly, little one, quietly. Papa Viserys won't hurt you, my little Avero." I murmured, feeling the tiny scales and spines on the little dragon's back with my hand.
Soon the flame began to subside. The five sacrificed eggs burst, leaving only ash inside them.
Realizing that the ritual was completely finished, I walked toward the steps that had emerged from beneath the burned wood. My bare feet trod on the hot stone, covered with small embers. Without a moment's hesitation, I walked straight through the fire.
Seeing the green of the forest and the blue sky, I involuntarily closed my eyes. After the red flame, the other colors were a little harsh on my sight. Taking a couple of steps, I felt a cool breeze caressing my skin, reddened by the heat.
"Ha-ha-ha! You did it, Viserys! You awakened a dragon!" Zirarro laughed, overwhelmed with emotion, subconsciously switching to the informal address.
"Yes, cough-cough, I did." I forced a smile, feeling my parched lips crack.
Seeing my condition, the Ghiscari snatched the cloak hanging on a branch and ran over, helping me cover my nakedness. Then he unhooked a waterskin of diluted wine from his belt, giving me a drink to moisten my dry throat. He did all this with admiration and slight apprehension, glancing at Avero, who was diligently impersonating an angry cat, hissing at the Ghiscari.
"Let's go. We need to feed Avero, and I wouldn't mind a hearty meal myself." After drinking, I handed the waterskin back to Zirarro and walked across the green grass toward my satchel where my clothes and shoes were.
"Avero, seriously? That means 'grape' in Valyrian. I thought it would be something like Vhagar or Balerion." Zirarro was slightly stunned.
"Well, I also planned to give it a fearsome and warlike name. But seeing those purple scales, I couldn't resist. And the name won't stop him from burning armies and fleets when he grows up." I replied awkwardly.
Honestly, upon seeing this hissing marvel, I almost named him Simba or Garfield, but stopped myself just in time. Posterity wouldn't understand, reading the chronicles. "Viserys Targaryen, Father of Dragons, astride Garfield the Armies' Executioner, burned the Lannister host at the Battle of..." Imagining those lines, I couldn't hold back the laughter bubbling inside me.
…
Year 289 AC.
Essos. The Free City of Myr. The Hold of the Terrible.
"You must have very compelling reasons to make me suffer the stench down here." The young woman spoke discontentedly, wrinkling her beautiful face in slight disgust.
"My men bathe every day and maintain bodily cleanliness," the tall man muttered indignantly.
"We grew up in the back alleys of the poverty quarter, in case you forgot. The smells there were much worse." The second young man smiled wryly, making himself comfortable in one of the hammocks. "We are no longer those hungry, unwashed ruffians. But never mind. You'd better tell me, why did I have to abandon my cozy estate and sail to Myr?" The girl became more serious.
"I'm tired of listening to the old man's endless lectures and obeying the orders of some petty bastard. I want more," the white-haired young man replied, his eyes flashing maliciously.
"Oh really? And how do you envision that? This isn't the back alleys of the slums. You won't be able to cut the leader's throat and take over his gang." The girl raised a brow ironically.
"Hey! Doesn't anything bother you?" The young man protested, pointing a finger at his friend. "We are being offered treason here, and you're playing with irony?"
"Treason against whom? That petty jerk? Only a loyal subordinate can betray, and we've only been looking out for profit from the very beginning." The young man frowned, grinding his teeth.
"We swore oaths before the gods! And the plan is almost complete; we just need to wait a little longer, and we'll rise even higher! Think again, friend!" The young man protested even more vehemently.
"I don't want to settle for the bone that this little milk-drinker will toss me. I want the entire boar carcass!"
"I still haven't heard how you plan to pull this off." The girl leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
"In their lands, if a man dies and only a girl remains, you can take her as a wife and become a lord," the young man replied. "And you calm down! You correctly pointed out that I am your friend. I am, not that milk-drinker."
"It's still not right." His interlocutor sulked and leaned back in his chair.
"This needs thought. If something goes wrong..."
"Everything will go as I've planned. You know yourself, my plans have never failed, even though I often had to change them," the young man declared confidently, interrupting the girl, which made her narrow her eyes even further.
"As you say, Maeg, as you say..." the girl spoke with an unreadable intonation.
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